


As Old As Time

by Nimravidae



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, 19th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Animal Death, Author Abuses Commas, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Injury, M/M, Murkey Time Lines, Mystery, Shady Businessmen, Slow Burn, ambiguous setting, fairy tale AU, really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-10-07 02:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10350384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/pseuds/Nimravidae
Summary: Wolves, monsters, and a mysterious manor in the woods - Benjamin Tallmadge's tale only begins with such things as he recuperates from a tragic hunting expedition with someone who may just be the most peculiar of men, and his motley band of loyal servants who just so happen to be charmed objects.(A Beauty and the Beast Inspired AU)





	1. A Frightful Evening

**Author's Note:**

> There will be some marked difference between the original BatB and this fic, this is to avoid people knowing right off the bat what's going to happen and spoil all the fun bits.
> 
> But at it's heart, As Old As Time is, and always will be, a Beauty and the Beast AU.

The last dredges of autumn heat had long since abandoned the little town, slipping away as the day faded and leaving only frigid puffs of air, tightly-drawn coats, and softly smoking chimney stacks. The streets, normally crawling with folk, were bare say for the scattered few that remain shuffling from place to place - quick to avoid lingering in the unseasonable chill for too long. All the time from the morning to afternoon had even robbed the kindness from voices - instead, the day had been filled with snipping and snarling from one another.

Though, Benjamin could hardly find himself above them. He rubbed his hands together quickly, trying to stir up some warmth in his bitter bookshop between shoving parchment rolls and books into his aged leather satchel. He grumbled, despite himself, and squinted out the dingy window, wishing he had taken Nathan’s advice and fixed himself a place to stay above the shop, instead of renting it out to passing travelers. Not that any came, of course. 

The thought, however tempting, is dismissed, as Ben knew no firewood remained, and the rickety bed there would be far less inviting than his own. And, the thought arrived to draw him homeward more intently, he was acutely aware there was still that bread Mary had left him that morning in exchange for a well-bound book for her son. His stomach offered up its opinion on the matters, aching at the thought of it, and he was left, then, with little other option than to heave the bag over his shoulder and face the wintry night. Not for the first time, Ben wished he had a horse or at least the good sense to request the use of one of Nathan’s that morning. It would have cut the walk considerably shorter, putting him home at a much more reasonable hour, as well as letting him retain the feeling of his fingers which fell numb shortly into the walk despite all of his best efforts of breathing on them and tucking them under his arms. 

His nose and cheeks were flushed a merry pink by the time he was met with the fence edging the line of his property, matching the hue of his ears as the wintry winds bit mercilessly at them. He was, however, not as merry as the coloring of his features would suggest. His lips pulled down into a tight, unpleasant frown, his brow knit sourly together and his shoulders hunched in a vain effort to retain what little heat he could. 

In fact, he was so caught up reveling in the miserable weather that he hardly noticed when he passed the first horse chewing at his grass. It was only a well-timed swish of the dark tail flickering into his sight that alerted him to even look up from the worn dirt road. He promptly then noticed that there was not one, but two animals that had not been fenced into his tiny lot when he had left that morning. Surely, it cannot be. Not on such a night as this one.

Worried he would see what he thinks he will, Ben flickered his eyes up to the clear skies. The moon hung, full and heavy, among the pinpricks of stars and Ben exhaled a long, discontent, sigh and begun to work on his long list of reasons why tonight, of all chosen nights, is absolutely, entirely, categorically, unfit for any sort of activity that is not sitting in front of a fire and reading. Perhaps, if Ben remembered to check his tins, with tea.

The first reason on the list: The cold. 

By the time Ben made it within sight of his door, where he could also squint and see the outline of a man leaning close to it, his list is secure and neatly organized in the back of his mind. As he got closer, he made out more the cloak that dwarfed his dear friends frame and the pair of muskets leaning against the wall beside him. Surely, he must have known he was being absurd - surely he must have known that Ben would have much better things to do than to subject himself to another moonlit hunt.

“Benjamin,” his friend gasped, kicking himself from the wall and flickering his eyes down Ben’s form, “you are woefully underdressed. Where is your coat?”

“I’m wearing a jacket, Nathan.” He pointed out, spreading his arms as if to accentuate his point before he attempted to nudge himself past. But Nathan held firm, fluttering his hands along Ben’s arms and sides, tugging the lapels closer together. He managed to free and arm and open the door - the inside of his home hardly a breath warmer than the outside. But he could remedy that much quicker than he could change the weather. 

It was a modest affair, simple in design and nature. There was a table, two chairs of different origin and numerous self-done repairs tucked into either side. Mary’s bread sitting as the only thing on the sparse top, the only thing built to change. Across the tiny room, sat the fireplace Ben was immediately drawn to. It was of an average size, with a grate made to hold a kettle or iron bowl to heat over it. 

Nathan, as he often did, followed, tutting. “You forgot.”

“I did not forget.” Ben removed his satchel and hurried to start a fire. “I merely… remembered other things more readily than I did this. Besides, do you not find it much too cold to hunt tonight?”

“The need for fur only grows the colder it gets, Benjy - now more then ever I need a good moonlight hunt. Some rabbits, perhaps something bigger, to fashion into gloves or line another cloak, and not to mention the meat it puts on the table for both myself  _ and  _ you.” 

Ben turned his eyes towards the heavens with a huff, once the fire began to nip its way along the kindling and sputter sensation back into his fingers with a glow of heat. Nate, ever the difficult one. He stood there, by the door, still donning that rich brown cloak. There’s a dark gray fur lining it, giving it a weight that pours down from Nate’s shoulders - making him walk with a much more regal air to him. The look suited him nicely , but the attitude that accompanied it, did not. 

It took a moment of silence for Nate to sigh and cross the tiny space. He unclasped his cloak and folded it across the back of the taller of the two chairs, setting a heavy-looking bag that Ben did not see him haul in,down at its feet. “If you wish to abandon me to the cold once again, merely say so, Benjamin,” Nate lamented with a wistful edge. He knelt down to rummage through the bag, finding what, Ben did not know. Straightening, as he had finally managed to tame the tremble in his hands long enough to get the fire crackling and popping, he turned himself back to find his sad little tin among the little that lined his pantry. He shook it once, frowning deeply at the pathetic sound of very little tea, before opening it. 

There is enough for one strong cup, or perhaps two weak ones. His frown deepened. Coin had been sparse, money all turned towards higher taxes and keeping his store in business as the rather ruthless Mister Arnold nipped at Ben's heels, attempting to force him to sell to him. But he wouldn't ever dare, his bookshop was all he had - all he most likely would ever have. 

_ Well,  _ he altered his previous thought at an insistent throat cleaning across his room.  _ And Nathan. He'll always have Nathan.  _

“Here,” the man said, rising with his bundle now held out to Ben, “I even brought a cloak and gloves.”

“Did you predict the cold, then?” He emptied the tin into the kettle, resigning himself to a frigid night alone once he was to return. 

“I predicted your complaints. It will be warm enough for the hunt, my friend.”

Ben hushed him, moving to set the kettle on the fire. It bought time, the act of making tea, but Ben knew there wasn’t the hours in a day that could deter Nathan from whatever goals he’s drafted. Should he wish to go on a full moon hunt with Ben, then so he shall. But, for a moment, Ben was capable of pretending such a thing was possible, as he ran his fingers along the cloak. It was a soft, rich material, dyed red on the outer edge, and lined around the collar. Ben was positive he’d seen it hanging, proudly, on display just a few days prior, the last time he had chance to visit Nathan’s shop to bring him some fresh bread. That shop had been, as it often was, bursting with people.

He would treat it well, then carefully return it to Nathan’s shop, despite the insistence that Ben keep it through winter. Ben never did, however, a gift so lavish would be much better paired with one who could match it with finery. Nathan was, by leagues, the most popular fur trader and leatherworker for miles. Just as his father had been when he owned the business, and his father before him, and his before him, all the way back, if Nathan were to tell the tale, to the first hunting Hale to scour the New World and cross warlines to trade pelts to the Spanish. Benjamin was not bitter by nature and did not detest his dear friend for the cushioned upbringing God had bestowed upon him. He could never be, not when Nathan was kind-hearted and more generous than even the most giving of clergymen. 

The kettle whistled, startling him from his musings on his dear friend (who, with a knowing little quirk of his lips seemed more than aware of his thoughts) and towards it once again. 

“Cups are as they always are then?” Nate asked, already removing himself towards the little nook of a kitchen. He returned shortly, as Ben, with threadbare rag wrapped around the handle, pulled the kettle from its rack and  hurried to the table and pour them both something warm to drink. 

They were quiet, but for a moment. “You know, my dearest friend,” Nate started, dashing the playfulness from his tone, “If you do not, in all sincerity, do not wish to join me, I will not force you. The night is bitter, even moreso when the winds raise.” 

His friends generosity was not lost upon Ben. But he feared rather suddenly that it would be the last moonlight hunt for the season and, for all his protest and scorn, as he peered into the depths of the chipped cup and the swirling of the leaves as they settled, he could not convince himself that he would more hate the cold than himself should he chose to forgo his last chance at a good hunt with his friend. The end of the season was busy for Nate, and he would not tolerate Ben’s assistance in his workshop without offering some compensation. Which accounted for less time spent between the two of them.

“No,” he sighed, taking a sip of his weakly flavored tea, “if I don’t join you, who would make sure you return home before the sun rises? Besides, you’ve already gone through the trouble of convincing me. It would hardly do for all that work to go to waste now, would it?”

“Well.” Nate drank from his cup with no complaint. “I suppose it wouldn’t.”

“Then it is settled.” He raised his own after a quick swallow, in a mock of a salute. There was a bitter sludge of saturated leaves sticking to the bottom, once they finally find time to enjoy their drink and Ben thought rather suddenly to a wizened book somewhere in the shelves of his shop. One which instructed the reader on the finer points of reading tea leaves. He wondered what that blob meant, what it would foretell about their night. 

And had he known, Benjamin quite possibly would have not clasped the rich cloak around his throat, nor would he have secured his hunting boots to his feet, and lastly, he quite possibly would not have mounted that dappled grey horse and started towards the edge of the woods.

So close to winter, the trees that towered over them were skeletal things. A few grasped at their leaves like a maiden to her shawl, prompting each whisper of a wind to rustle the little, dying remains together. A particularly hard gust would make one creak and groan and another shudder and lose its hold on the crumbling leaves. Both hunters approached the mouth of the woods swiftly, slowing once they neared enough to risk being swallowed in her shadows. 

The wind howled, as if announcing their arrival.

“Are we to follow the same path we often do?” Nate asked, squinting into the darkness and untying his lantern so that he may hold it farther out. 

Ben affixed him with a look he hoped was withering, but was far too amused to manage it. “You are the master of this trip and these woods, are you not, Hale?” He challenged, a wry smile twisting onto his lips. 

His friend did not respond, instead clicked his tongue and gave the reigns a snap with his free hand, urging his horse forward. Ben did the same, falling into pace beside him.

Once, the woods had terrified Ben. As a child, teetering at his mother's heels and peering ‘round her dress at the cavernous entrance, he conjured monsters in the vast blackness. Even when the sun was bright and he took his lunch with his brothers and sisters at the edges of their home, he never so much as took a single step into the shadows cast by the trees. Samuel used to taunt him, telling him stories by firelight of a hideous creature that lived in the abandoned palace deep within the forest. 

_ “He haunts the place,”  _ Samuel would whisper conspiratorially,  _ “Forever wandering the woods, looking for little boys to snatch up and feed upon.”  _

But that was long ago. His mother had swatted Samuel’s ear to put those nasty stories to bed, told young Benjamin that all there was in the woods was a scraggly band of animals and an old manor that belonged to nature now, empty since long past the Tallmadge family could remember. 

It wasn’t the end of the stories that shook Ben from his fears, but in truth, it was Nate dragging him along on hunts like these and teaching him how to distinguish the flicker in the corner of his eyes to simply the owl it was. 

He didn’t realize how long they had trotted along in silence before Nate broke it. “Are you thinking of your brother?” He asked, quietly.

“Yes, I am. Though, moreso the stories he told of these woods.” It wouldn’t do to worry Nate, knowing how he’d fret should Benjamin’s mind be turned to the war that stole the lives of two of his brothers and both his parents. 

“The monsters in the manor?” There was a scoff beside him, even as they approached the point they would normally fall silent to avoid spooking the animals. “You know, Tallmadge, as often as I’ve hunted in these woods, never once had I so much as caught a glimpse of this manor they speak of. The whole town believes it out here, but I swear it must have blown to dust centuries ago.”

“Perhaps, or perhaps it never existed,” Ben offered, urging the stallion to a halt and shuffling from his place upon his back. He landed with a faint protest in his knees, the chill making his joints stiff and sore. Hopefully he would have little need to run after anything tonight.

Nathan follows suit, hitching his musket across his back, snuffing his lantern, and tying his favored mare to a branch. She snuffled the ground, looking for a patch of weeds before tossing her mane with an air of discontent. “Perhaps,” he agreed, after a lingering moment. “But these old woods are so filled with intrigue, my dear boy, I would not yet be surprised should I one day come across a full manor where I had sworn there was none.”

Ben would have responded, asking if maybe it was only that Nate had a poor sense of direction, had he not already known that he was needed to be quiet. A ready musket in his gloved hands, he creeped after Nate - who had already begun his trek through the unformed paths. Not a single twig dared break under his nimble feet, not a single leaf dared be disturbed.

The sight of Nate hunting was truly one of a particular sort of majesty. His shoulders curled down, making himself seem somehow smaller, somehow sharper, as each step fell with a deliberate movement. Not a single breath, nor hair, was out of place. More feline than man, Ben would claim, had the sight not often rendered him simply breathless. He was so taken, that he nearly startled and dropped his gun at the first scurrying twitch of a rabbit, followed immediately by the clamber of its escape. 

“Damn,” Nate huffed, lip twitching down. “I thought I’d have that one.”

There was better luck with the next poor creature to stumble into their path, and rather quickly, Nate has a new batch of fur tied to his belt. “Two more rabbits or something larger, I think,” he said, weighing the thing in his hand, “then we can leave them with the horses.”

Ben found his eyes adjusting more to the moonlight and, with the soft silver guidance, quickly found himself matching Nate with his own kill affixed to his persons. It bumped gently into his thigh with each step he took, a constant reminder of its presence, and it was, in a way Ben found particular, soothing. He felt more at ease in the darkness, knowing he had not lost his touch nor was he simply a dull addition to Nate’s party. He could hold his own, the proof was right there on his belt. 

As soon as Ben had landed himself another rabbit and a rather small beaver, Nate was stringing up a well-sized fox. 

Ben watched him heave the limp creature over his shoulder and declare then, that one more should suffice. The movement and the cloak had warmed his bones and brought even a proper flush of enjoyment (and, perhaps, from a few nips off a flask that Nate had secreted under his own belt, only brought out for the celebration of another fine catch). It was, despite all his grumbling and huffing, an enjoyable night. 

“You think we have enough to return, Hale?” He asked, weighing the bundle of his own kill in his hands. Nate peered into the woods, assessing the possibility of just one more before giving his response.

He shouldered his musket, “I do believe we have. If you are ready to claim defeat, that is.”

One brow quirked and Ben could not stop the curl of his lips as they start back, much less precisely as before, “Count your furs, Hale, I do believe four outdoes three, yes?” 

“You’ve barely enough for a stew, Tallmadge, I,” he paused to effect, raising the edge of his cloak to show what dangles still from his belt, “have a feast.” 

Benjamin could never, no matter how much he would think back to it, remember what he wished to say to his dearest, oldest, friend in that moment. He could not dream of what it might have been, what quip or sly comment. He would fixate on all other aspects of the breath that followed. The howling of wolves, the twin shrieks of horses, his blood turning cold, the look on Nate’s face, and the chaos that ensued.

His breath came sharp, in heavy and burning pants as he ran as fast as his legs could take him. Ahead, Nate ran. He lept over fallen logs, darted around trees and through pathetic streams, vanishing out of sight as though he were a mirage as Benjamin desperately tried to keep pace. 

“Nathan!” He shouted, no longer caring what they frightened away. He repeated it again, and again, stumbling slightly over something. He wished, rather suddenly, that he had not paused to look down.

A few rabbits and a fox, bundled and tangled with twine, lying in a pile in the leaves. 

A distance away, glinting in the moonlight, a musket. 

Benjamin, with a bitter taste on his tongue, sprinted away from the scene.  _ He cannot be, he simply cannot be,  _ he thought to himself. Nathan was the best hunter he knew, the best marksman, the best… the best man. He was a thing of wonder, a thing of beauty. 

He must have ran, he must have. He must have known, must have dropped the weights that slowed him to outrun the foul beasts of the woods. He whipped his head around, looking for any glimpse of his ill-fated friend. But there was only trees. Looming, skeletal beasts hulking above him in every direction. He couldn't remember which way he came, which way he was running, which way - which way at all. Breath frozen in his chest, Ben takes a step back, then another. 

Nathan. 

He must have ran, as Ben did. Chest burning and limbs aching and mind going to quickly to manage. He must have ran, he must have ran, he must have ran, he must have - Ben’s thoughts came to an end as his foot caught on a root and blinding red-hot pain tore up his leg. The ground rushed up to him, knocking the air from his body and stunning him. 

He could not fathom why the leaves are damp. 

Nor what the rustling behind him could have been.

The world shifted and adjusted around him, righting itself as he looked forward from his place sprawled across the floor. Ahead of him was something very large and very dead. Torn to shreds, it is only the mangled lump of the saddle clinging to the carcass that suggests it was once anything at all. Behind the motionless remains, something shifted, something once-grey and now, with a muzzle stained red, bared its teeth. 

All Ben could hear was his own breath and the snapping of twigs under the wolf’s bloody paws. Some distant call rang in his ears, and Ben’s eyes swarmed with terrified tears. Pain radiated up his body in long, agonizing waves. His breath came sharp and hazy and dizzy on choked sobs of fear as the creature crept closer.    


Ben’s fingers scrambled against the gore-slick leaves for purchase to push himself up, for a weapon, for anything at all to protect himself. But there was nothing. Nothing but leaves and blood and his vision blurred over. This was it. The end of him, the end of his friend, the end of everything. He would die cold and alone and torn to shreds. Mangled and in pain. 

He tried one last time, weak, trembling arms pushing himself a few inches from the ground and and the wolf cowered. It bowed its head and bared its teeth, but it cowered back and Ben felt a glimmer of hope. He exhaled, disbelieving and shifted slightly.

A branch cracked behind him once more and all that hope extinguished in a moment.  _ No,  _ he thought to himself, as the only thought one could have in that exact moment. He prayed, he prayed with everything in him as he twisted his torso to look behind him. Something was there. Looming nearly seven feet above him, standing hunched on two large back paws, was something horrid. A jaw full of fangs glinted in the moonlight, ragged, killer claws curved out from the massive paws that dangled down before the thing. It’s fur was dark, too much so in the moonlight to know what color that covered him, or that hung down from the things shaggy neck like a demented mane. The worst was its eyes. 

He looked up, looked into the cold, brilliant, blue eyes and, as darkness overcame him, Benjamin did as anyone who had gone through such things would do: He very promptly fainted.


	2. An Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjamin awakes in a most peculiar manor.

“He should have awoken by now.”

“Nonsense, he has had an awful fright.”

There was a noise, like a frustrated tapping, and Benjamin’s brows pulled together in his sleep. Whatever voices cut through his dreams were strange, one heavily accented and the other quietly sharp. It must have been a strange dream he was having, one where there was a gentle click of metal on metal that Ben could have sworn sounded worried.

He groaned, and attempted to turn onto his side to hide away from the noises.

“Look, now you’ve woken him.” The first voice clipped, tight and concerned.

“I have done no such thing, it was you hopping about so close to him.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the strange dream, but his mind was having none of it. Instead, it seemed to pull him towards a fuller consciousness, one which he very much did not wish to be in. It seemed, as he slowly began to stir, that being awake came with the most unpleasant throbbing in his leg. This was as displeasing fact. Benjamin did not want to wake in pain, especially when he was thoroughly unsure of where this pain originated from.

There was the shop (did he fall from the steps that led to the lofted apartment?)

There was his walk home (did he trip?)

There was Nathan, the horses, then--He bolted upright, suddenly very awake and his chest suddenly very tight. Then the wolves. Then the monster.

Then Nathan.

His breath came harsh and he cast his eyes about wildly searching for his hosts. It was not Nathan’s voice, nor any townsmen he knew. And who could have found him so deep in the woods? And what of the hoses? And what of that monster?

The room he was in was strangely ornate. Fashioned, perhaps, after a manor of years long past. It reminded Benjamin of the older palaces he had seen sketched in books that sat on his shelves or at his bedside. The bed was soft, comfortable, with very fine coverings. He only noticed, once he saw his foot bandaged clumsily atop a stack of pillows, that he had been stripped of all clothing, say, thankfully, for his breeches. He grappled for the sheet that feel to his lap as he sat up to cover his bare chest, cheeks flushing deeply at the exposure.

How mortifying. No one appeared to remain in his room, however, and Benjamin could not figure how the men who were occupying it as he slept had quit it so quickly.

Then, rather suddenly, a voice: “Good sir!”

Ben cast his eyes to the side of the room, where he swore the voice originated from. Instead of a man, he instead saw a small, silver candelabra. It waved its little metal arm at him. “Good morning, sir!” Its accent was thickly French. Benjamin stared.

“I am Gilbert du Motier, de Lafayette, the head of all house-servants here at the manor and I am here to welcome you humbly to our home. I fear it has been some time since we have had a guest, so you must forgive the state of things here.”

Benjamin continued staring. The candelabra hopped to the side and gestured sweepingly.

“This,” it pointed a wick at a quill balanced on its tip with no hand supporting it, “is Alexander Hamilton, notary, scribe, and keeper of the accounts.”

The quill bent its tawny plume at the middle, “I apologize that Lafayette here has awoken you so abruptly. And you are?”

Benjamin, as one may assume, continued staring still.

He blinked, once, and then twice, and then said, “I am Benjamin Tallmadge, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Er, ah, pardon me, sirs, I do hope you will forgive my abruptness but have I gone mad -- or are you a candelabra?”

Both quill and candle turned to one another.

“Ah,” said Hamilton, “yes. Well, he is. I am a quill.” He hopped forward with a soft clicking sound that Ben then recognized from his so-called dream. They both moved with such little jumps and skips, though Hamilton seemed much more agile with his, moving with a sort of precise intention where Lafayette’s seemed more clunky and awkward by nature.

“Where am I? How did I get here?” He asked, tightening the sheets around himself. He tried to remain polite, as his mother always told him, but he didn’t think she ever imagined the possibility that he would be in the presence of enchanted objects. Though, he did not know if they were enchanted or not. It seemed rude to assume. “And are you enchanted?”

This time, the candelabra, Lafayette, spoke: “You are in our master’s home, the Washington Manor of the Vernon Woods, he found you last night while roaming the woods and brought you here.” He paused, and looked as thoughtful as one could before answering a simple, “And yes, in a way, we are enchanted.”

“Are there more?”

“Of us?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh yes, yes. Here, allow me.” He clicked his metal arms together again called: “Nelson! Please Nelson, would you bring Tilghman to me?”

At first, nothing happened. But, once Ben had cast a wary eye towards Lafayette, the door to the room creaked open and a little silver serving cart rolled along of its own volition. Atop it was a simple inkwell and a stack of paper. Hamilton hopped elegantly aboard it as it came to a stop right at Benjamin’s bedside. The inkwell, if one could do such things, bowed.

The cart did not.

Benjamin did, what he knew one to do when faced with a person bowing, and inclined his head towards them.

The inkwell, which Benjamin would further assume was this Tilghman fellow, informed them, “A note has been sent up from Lord Washington, inquiring if a late breakfast would be preferred - or if it shall instead be an early dinner.”

Hamilton, using the point of his quill, flicked a folded piece of parchment open and bent the tip of his feather over it, as though reading intently before hopping around it to fold the top down again. And then, standing on the folded down edge, used his feathered end to bring the other end down as well.

It seemed to contain more information than a question that Tilghman seemed to have given himself, but Benjamin would not pry upon his saviours. Instead, he simply cleared his throat once, as politely as he could manage and inquired: “Excuse me, but would any of you know where my clothes have gone?”

There was a pause. Lafayette answered, “I fear they were damaged quite heavily before your arrival. We have sent them to the laundress. I will fetch you something to wear. Stay and speak with Hamilton regarding your meals, you are hungry, yes?”

“I suppose…”

“Lovely! Ah!” He stopped, and brings his candles to his center, the flame atop his head growing momentarily, “You are not in much pain, are you? We have brought you a pair of crutches should you require assistance and if you find yourself in need of anything else, please do inform our dear Hamilton.” With that, the candelabra hopped off with a steady series of bounces across the rug and out the door. Benjamin, once again, found himself staring.

He was not usually this rude, and he simply felt awful for being so.

Hamilton dipped himself into Tilghman’s ink and began to dance around a fresh sheet of parchment. It appeared, given the angle and neatness with which he wrote, that he was being held and guided by a hand but there was none there. He wrote for a bit, then ceased, and flicked his feather towards Benjamin. “Would you prefer to bathe before you dine, Mister Tallmadge? You may also redress your wounds when you do such, and it is recommended to keep you from infection. Lord Washington suggests it, which would imply that there is already water being heated somewhere for you.”

“I would like that, yes. Thank you, sir, and please send my thanks to Lord Washington. Really, his kindness has saved my life and I owe him a true debt for that. Do you know who dressed my wounds last night? So that I may give my thanks to them as well?”

Hamilton hummed and continued scribbling after another dip in the well, “that was again Lord Washington. You may thank him yourself if you wish. He will be joining you for your dinner. I'll send for your bath.”

He clicked at the cart, and they slowly rolled off, leaving Benjamin alone. Or, at least he hoped he was alone. Nothing else spoke to him. No rugs, nor chamber pots, nor walls. Even when he kindly asked. He took this time to examine himself, curiously prodding at the mottled purple and blue bruises with a low hiss. He had scratches on his arms and knees that were carefully cleaned, and a few deeper ones on his chest and stomach that had been bandaged as well.

Though, he hadn’t remembered taking blows there - but then again, his memory of the event was hazed and pained. Worrying his bottom lip, Benjamin did not fail to realize that no one had mentioned a thing of Nathan. Surely, had they come across him, in any state, he would have been informed. Could they have been sparing his feelings? Or had they not so much as found a hint of his friend?

His set his trembling jaw and took a sharp breath. If this Lord Washington fellow had happened upon Nathan, Benjamin would have been informed.

This, of the few things he could be, he was certain of. He sniffed once, and reached for the crutches, which were kindly placed well within reach. Holding one, he examined it thoroughly and inquired, “Would you be possessing the ability to move and speak?”

The crutch did not respond, nor did it move at all in his hand. He deemed it safe and brought it to his side to further inspect his ankle. It had been propped on a pile of pillows and wrapped in clean linen. Benjamin undid the wrappings and then discovered the source of his pains. There was a great swelling, from the tops of his ankle down his toes and along his heel was a purpling blossom of bruises. It was hardly a wonder he was left a pair of crutches given the sight, as it would be difficult to maneuver on such a thing. He attempted, curiously, to bend it, but found the pain to be far too excruciating to continue the attempt.

Luckily, before he could damage himself any further, Lafayette arrived again in his doorway, this time in the company of a tall coat rack. Hanging from it, appeared to be a nightgown of sorts. It would be hideously improper to leave the bed without a shirt beneath it, but it seemed as though Benjamin had little option. “Good sir, your bath awaits.”

Bringing himself to the edge of the bed, Benjamin pulled the fabric over himself and attempted to steady himself upon the crutch. He wobbled ferociously at first, the first step nearly sending him tumbling. He was caught, however, by the sturdy oak of the coat rack. It helped him along, to the adjoined washroom, where a brass tub was filled with steaming water.

Similar to the previous room, this one gave the impression that it had not had its decor touched in a centuries time. It was reminiscent of a time long, long before the war, with aged, gilded carvings of roses adorning the walls and atop the small looking glass. On the wall adjacent to door which Benjamin entered, was the servants entrance, which remained shut neatly. There was little else in the small room, say for a small table holding a few piles of fabric, which Benjamin was very thankful for, given that there was also then, less for to worry about upsetting.

He scrubbed at the clinging bits of blood that stuck to himself and then at his hair to detangle some of the twigs and leaves that remained. He did not dawdle, about, however, seeing as if he was in fact meeting the Lord of the manor he ought to be tidy and prompt about it. He leaned heavily on the table as he dried himself.

The clothing left out was three separate piles, each of different sizes and each exceedingly old, but equally unworn. The first set he held up would hardly button ‘round his chest, and the breeches would be far too short to be respectable. The second’s chest was once again too narrow, but the size of breeches and stockings fit him better. He gathered an undershirt, waistcoat, and jacket from the final pile to complete an outfit that at least fit him sensibly. He was not certain to which pile the shoes belonged, but he could only fit one over his good foot - the other too swollen to accept any other. He dressed his wounds himself with a few linen rags and a jar of pungent herbal ointment left beside the piles, with an attached note.

The note read: _Please take these to tend to your wounds. The cream should soothe the pain of your ankle at least mildly._

And was signed neatly: _G. Washington._

He presumed it must have been sent up with the servants, and took the kindness to heart. He did not notice the soothing initially, but once he had finished gingerly dressing himself and wrapping his ankle, the cooling sensation of the herbs had batted way a significant portion of the pain. It was not enough that he could waltz about unhindered, but he could less gasp and wince in pain with each bump of the crutches against the floor.

Taking care to look presentable, Benjamin plaited his hair back and tied it with a ribbon left with the clothing.

Were it not for the strange and remarkable clothing and the scratch upon his cheek - Benjamin would look the picture of himself before the incident. He hobbled from the washing room, where he was greeted again by another servant, this one another coat rack - though he is sure it is one not quite like the other.

It bowed, this one, and said, “I am glad that we managed to procure something to fit you, sir. I was worried you would not fit the measurements of what we already had.”

“I must admit I was forced to take a little from each pile, good sir.”

It struck him suddenly, looking at this sentient coat rack, that he is not quite certain where the clothing has come from. It is a worrying thought to have in a manor populated by seemingly solely by sentient furniture. But, as ever, Benjamin knew it would be very rude to inquire about such a gift.

So he did not. After another brisk conversation with the coat rack, and a round of introductions to a few more of the staff from Lafayette, he was guided to the hall.

“Your meal,” he said, hopping about slowly to account for Benjamin’s slowed movement, “is only just being set. I hope you do not take offence to our enthusiasm, it has been years since we have had anybody here. And again, my dear sir, our command, is your request. Please do let me know if you want for anything at all.”

“Why thank you, Lafayette, you are all very kind.”

“We strive to be, sir. We do not wish to frighten off our guest.”

Benjamin managed to the bottom of the stairs, into another hall, and then followed Lafayette silently through until they came to rest at a room filled with motion and sound. Carts darted about, bringing dishes and candles and cups and (one, which Benjamin saw in a blur) Hamilton to wherever they needed to go in a bit of a chaotic mess. There was a table in the center, long enough to seat twenty, piled with food. Cured meats and fresh-looking breads were stacked with autumn vegetables. An array of cheeses line plates and a silver wine cooler took a chilled bottle from its own basin to set in the center.

He took in the sight and very nearly missed the man rising from his seat at the head of the table.

He noticed, however, by just that fact alone. It was a man. Tall, with handsome features and a square jaw and two arms and two legs and a solid, upright, body. He was not a couch, nor a table, nor a fork.

A man. His hair was a soft auburn, speckled slightly with grey, and tied neatly into a queue and his eyes were a very nearly familiar shade of blue. Although it sparked some semblance of recognition in Benjamin’s gut, he could not entirely place where he knew them from. He certainly had never seen this man before in his life. He was sure he would have remembered a man like this. The clothes he wore were a similar style to that which Benjamin wore, ornamented with gold thread and luxurious embroidery. It was of an aged style, yes, but it was so neatly tailored to his form that Benjamin would have hardly noticed the flaws.

“You must be Mister Tallmadge,” he spoke with a heavy, rich voice that Benjamin felt must have belonged to a commander of some sort. He inclined his head towards him, a brisk sort of bow, gesturing, “I am Lord George Washington, please, have a seat. You are Benjamin Tallmadge, correct?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

There was only one other plate set out, at the closest chair down from where Lord Washington sat. The others were softly pushed away from it, to allow for Benjamin to situate himself in it without upsetting his leg too much.

Which he did, neatly, as his crutches were then swept away by a clock with a cracked face and a tasseled ottoman wriggled its way under the table. It nuzzled under his ailing foot, rising it to alleviate some pressure. And then, to add to his immediate shock, his chair neatly tucked itself closer and his napkin laid itself primly across his lap.

Lord Washington did not look bothered at all, even in the face what Benjamin knew must be a rather horrified expression.

“I trust you are comfortable?” He asked.

“Yes, Lord Washington,” he replied, albeit slightly forced as the living objects around him settled into place. “I am sorry you must have been waiting an awful long time.”

“Nonsense.” Lord Washington waved a hand to dismiss his apologies, “you needed your rest, young man. You were in an awful state when I came upon you.”

Benjamin’s gut chilled at the memories. Ah. Yes.

“Thank you, sir, for saving my life.” He said, quietly, as he watched a cart bring two bowls of a soup, which climbed onto their plates. “I would surely be dead, be it not for you.”

Lord Washington paused in the action of taking up his spoon before speaking, “Of course. I would never consider leaving someone to such a fate. The wolves that frequent these woods are vicious creatures, unlike any I have met before. But, we shall speak no more if it. No more thanks and gratitude, it is not conversation fitting for a dinner.” His tone was soft, comfortable, and Benjamin did not feel chided - though he suspected that he should. Perhaps it was more to the point that Lord Washington noted the sick look that overcame Benjamin at the discussion of wolves and decided to simply allow him a quiet dinner.

He waited a moment or two before picking up a utensil, letting that unease in his gut settle more. He looked up at Lord Washington, mind alight with thoughts. Thoughts of that thing.

Surely, he found himself thinking as he attempted to examine the spoon as subtly as he may. It did not appear as a thing with a soul, but then again had his chair not moved of its own accord - he would not have known it could do such. A seat down, Lord Washington had already begun his meal.

Nothing seemed to happen, with the short while that Benjamin scrutinized the other man’s silverware. So he, as one would do, assumed it to be nothing more than molded silver. Soulless and empty. He dipped it gently into the soup and lifted it to his lips.

There, is if waiting for the perfect moment, it flexed in his hand - prompting Benjamin to squawk in a rather undignified manner and drop the poor thing. It struck the table with an awful clatter - hopping up and bounding back to the plate. A napkin tugged itself across the table to clear the mess and Benjamin immediately tucked his trembling hand back down to his lap.

Lord Washington cleared his throat, his brows raising.

Benjamin ducked his head in response. “Apologies, sir. I was not… I had not... “ He coughs neatly into his hand. “I apologize.”

But Washington’s intense gaze only dropped down to the object, which sat as innocent as would a normal, inanimate utensil. The napkin continued its gently rolling about until all traces of the soup was cleaned away before it folded itself back down upon the table.

“I had thought we agreed that our guest would need not suffer his first dinner with an active band of silverware?” He asked, though it was rather clearly not directed towards Benjamin. Instead, at his spoon - who rose itself up and bowed at the center.

Benjamin closed his eyes and felt a sudden wash of heat come over him. How could it be that such a noble home stood so tall in these woods and go unnoticed or unremarked upon? How could it be that this place could be infested with animated and charmed furniture, how was he to know what was or was not going to pick itself up and simply waltz away. How was he to know what may jump out and startle him?

The simple answer is: He was not.

He exhaled, once, noting that the spoon was bouncing off and a serving tray was returning, with a set of silverware that seemed to at least need to be carried in. “Lord Washington, sir,” he started, sounding breathless, “may I ask something of you?”

“Certainly, my boy. Though may I offer an assumption as to what you may wish to ask?”

Benjamin nodded, attempting to slow his racing heart still.

“You would not be remiss to ask about my staff, Mr. Tallmadge, that I can assure you. It is an unusual thing and something that I myself took years to accustom myself to.” He paused, as the silver wine cooler filled his glass. He sipped from it as she settled back to the table. “You see, being so far removed from the townspeople for so many generations has had quite the impact on my ability to keep servants. It is easier, I find, to have these objects to be living than anything else.”

He does not yet understand why, but Benjamin pushes out a breath of relief. A wineglass, filled, comes to rest at his hand. He drinks from it carefully. It stays perfectly rigid. “I see,” he said.

Lord Washington looked very nearly relieved by this, and nodded once. “I did not charm them myself, you should know. It was done for me by a former servant. A stable boy who was leaving my staff. I sometimes think the aura of magic is what summons such vicious wolves to the estate.”

The soup had grown cold and congealed. No longer appealing, it whisked itself away in favor of a cut of meat. The breads and cheeses spread out about the table parted ways to allow for the roast and a bowl of boiled vegetables. The smell of it turned his stomach to an angry thing and Benjamin realized that the last thing he had eaten was the bread that Mary left the previous morning. His stomach twisted and ached with a sudden reminder of this, and he was rather glad as soon as the carving knife and fork served him a cut. The roast was a little thing, but Benjamin suspected that the servants themselves did not need to eat, and so it would only be between the two of them.  

He had, previous to this conversation, once again considered his memory of the creature he saw. He had the fur of a wolf, he thought, and the angry maw of one as well. But, Benjamin swore he stood on his back legs, he swore that he was much larger than any wolf had been given the right to be. He… swore it was a monster. A creature of the night and darkness. He prodded at his meat, this time eating graciously, and continued to wonder.

If magic had soaked into the grounds, enough to draw the animals to a place where they were more rarely known, perhaps it could have turned one to such a size? It did not seem unlikely.

But, if Lord Washington was really so stringent regarding his desire to not discuss such topics as they dined it would be terribly rude for Benjamin to bring it up once more. Though, he mused, chewing thoughtfully on his dinner, should he frame is question as regarding magic then it would not be as as terribly tactless. He waited for the second course to find its end and the plates to clear themselves away and the napkins to dust away crumbs and trimmings to ask his questions.

“Have you noticed if this large quantity of magic has had any ill effects on the wildlife?” Innocent enough a question, he thought, rather proudly.

Lord Washington did not seem to bite at his rouse, however. He patted his lips with his napkin and allowed his gaze to wander to the large windows that let the light seep in. “Not that I am aware of. Do you farm or hunt?”

“No, sir, I am a bookseller by trade.”

He hummed, and finished his second glass of wine that evening. He did not say anything following, and so Benjamin felt the insatiable need to fill the gap of the conversation himself.

He breathed in deeply. The soothing of the ointment on his ankle was fading quickly and already the steady throb was beginning to wear away at his well-mannered patience. “Sir,” he said - though it could hardly be considered something above a whisper. But he needed to believe in himself, for if he didn’t have his memory of that thing, he could not trust a single thought. He needed to know, he needed it to be confirmed. “I only ask because of a concern I have. Last night, in the woods, there was a hideous, awful creature.”

A rush of feeling washed over him as the words left his lips. Firstly, and most aggressively, a feeling of mortification and regret. He should not have said those things, he should not have voiced them in a place so new. The clatter of dishes removing themselves, the rolling, and thuds, and claps of servants all ceased at once and Benjamin knew he had made a grievous mistake. But he could not stop himself.

“Lord Washington, are you aware that there is a monster in your woods?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _gasp! if washington is man-shaped, who's the beast????? (stay tuned to find out)_
> 
>  
> 
> also talk to me on the [tumbles](http://www.tooeasilyconsidered.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of a dinner, a discussion of a wolf best left be, and a wardrobe.

The silence was what unnerved him the most. It came with the sense that he had done something very wrong and very rash, and yet part of Benjamin's mind, the part that still held the belief that he saw what he saw, remained steadfast. Lord Washington had paused, taking a moment to stare the table before reanimating himself to look up towards the window. Golden-colored light seeped in, the first gentle reminder that soon night will come.

“Mister Tallmadge,” Lord Washington said. His voice was lower, colder. 

But still, Benjamin felt the need to inform, “Benjamin, please.”

“Benjamin, then. I can assure you that, as one who has lived in these woods the entirety of his life there is nothing but myself and the wildlife that nature herself bestowed upon it.” His words were tightly laced and stiff. As Lord Washington drew himself up, sitting taller and far less at ease than he had before, Benjamin was under the distinct impression that he intended to leave. “There is no such beast out there, now please, sir, eat. You must regain your strength.”

“But I saw--”

“A wolf, good sir. When I came upon you last night you were bloodied and bruised and so caught in your fright that you had collapsed.” Returned was the voice of the commander, stern and harsh and requiring nothing short of absolute compliance. “We shall speak no more of any monster, real or imagined. Besides, we have greater matters to discuss.”

At a loss and feeling rather like a child scolded by his father, Benjamin bowed his head. “I apologize, Lord Washington.”

“It is unnecessary to do so.” Slowly, around them, the gentle clinking and hopping of the servants resumed. “As I said, greater matters. It is not common knowledge, but I do not often leave the residence of the manor and as such I have not seen reason to keep a dedicated mount.” 

The same cart from the morning rolled to a curious stop beside Lord Washington as he spoke, a dainty-looking tea set atop it. He did not take the cup, but instead patted the top of the cart idly as he spoke, allowing it then to roll away with what could only be described as a content sort of movement. 

“To make the matter shorter,” Lord Washington continued, “I have no horses to offer you a way home.”

Once his point was reached, Benjamin bowed his head.  _ Of course,  _ he thought bitterly to himself. He had made a fool of himself before the master of the house and now he must bear the burden of thinking without speaking. This burden being to walk through the wolf-infested woods and the long miles back to the town on his mangled ankle. It would pain him, he knew, but he supposed it was better than to be dead. 

He did not voice these private thoughts. Instead, he just flexed his ankle the tiniest bit and said, “I understand, sir.”

Lord Washington nodded, and his napkin hopped from his lap and folded itself upon the table and he stood, gesturing for Benjamin to remain seated once he moved to do the same. “So I must insist that you stay until you have properly healed. I fear I have business that needs to be attended to, but I have pressed Lafayette to assist you personally with whatever needs you may have in the coming night. Whatever questions or concerns are to be directed to him and he shall do his best to set them right. And the rules he informs you of are to be adhered to, no matter what.” 

A breath, in which Benjamin cannot properly discern what has happened. The single word that he latches his fingers to,  _ stay,  _ echoed in his mind far too loudly for the others to register. Lord Washington inclined his head towards him in a sort of bow before departing, leaving the young man alone at the table. He opened his mouth to speak, to offer his genuine thanks to the retreating back, but the man turned a corner and was gone from Benjamin’s sight. 

“So,” came the familiar voice of the quill as he appeared on the edge of the table. “Will you be staying with us, then?”

It took Benjamin a moment or two to consider this. Lord Washington said he insisted, even if he does seem to be a cool and distant man. Benjamin assumed that he would not be seeing much of the very man he made an awful fool of himself before, and therefore there was little need for him to disregard the kindness and depart on his wounded leg. “I believe so, sir.” He said, after those moments were finished.

“Good,” Hamilton clicked his tip against the table and hopped back down to the cart, which Benjamin would believe was once again, Nelson, as it had recently returned, sans tea. “Dear Lafayette is overseeing changes being done to your room currently, so unless you are confident in the way, I shall take you there.”

Benjamin took a moment to glance around the extravagant room. From the ornate table to the twisting gilded carvings of the wall to the polished marble floor. He takes in the twisting staircases and cavernous mouths of hallways and doorways that lead to places he is most certainly not sure of. In fact, he cannot even remember which way they had come. 

His head bows slightly. “Your assistance is very much appreciated, Hamilton.”

“As I had thought.” 

They do not begin for his temporary quarters alone. There was Hamilton, of course, riding upon Nelson’s back, but in addition they were joined by the same footstool as had wriggled itself beneath Benjamin’s leg during dinner. 

“Pay no mind,” Hamilton informed. “His name is Tipsy and it appears that he has taken a liking to you.”

It was curious, he thought, as they began the ascension, that Nelson and Tipsy did not speak but Hamilton, Lafayette, and a number of other furniture did. He asked Hamilton why this was.

The response was, “Some of us were made to speak, others not. It is simply how it is, Benjamin.”

From there to his room, walking slowly to account for Benjamin’s crutch, the normally chatty quill was remarkably silent. The last piece he offered was at the doorway itself which was simply: “I would see you in, but I have business to attend to with the master of the house. Goodnight.”

Inside, however, the room was hardly recognizable as the one he had left just a few hours ago. The bedding had been changed, replaced with a rich and thick vermillion-colored blanket that tucked neatly against the sides of the bed. A table had been moved (hopefully, Benjamin thought, by another servant and not itself) to the side of it, with the ointment jar from the bath sitting beside linen bandages. A wardrobe had also been moved into the room, though how Benjamin was wholly unsure. There had been a rug placed carefully along the wooden floors and a cane leaned nearby, should he graduate on from the crutches to it soon enough. 

A rather ornately carved feather duster was working its way across a mantle, which was newly lined with candles. Lafayette lit them each in turn with his own flaming wick. 

“Ah! Monsieur Benjamin, you have returned early!” Lafayette exclaimed, clapping his candlesticks together as he wobbled himself to the edge of the mantle. “We are nearly finished here!”

“Please, good sir, do not rush on my account. You did not need to do all this.” Benjamin, looking around once more, was aghast at what had been done on his account. Such a fuss, and seemingly only for him. How absurd.

Lafayette, however, simply shook his head. “I told you before, yes? We do not have guests often. Allow me to introduce you!” There were new servants added to the lot already inhabiting the room. The wardrobe, a lovely woman named Anna, showed him the clothing that had been wrangled from around the manor for him. They had been curated from the sources of the clothing he wore now, but just what the source was, she did not elaborate. The quick flashes told Benjamin that they all maintained a similar aesthetic to the ones he currently wore. She informed him that some pieces had been swiftly altered to match the measurements that were closest to his old clothing. Which, she told him sadly, could not be recovered. 

Benjamin did not say how odd he found that, considering that he could hardly think of how a tumble and tree branches could have rent them apart beyond repair. Tipsy, who still did not speak, immediately hopped up onto the bed and laid himself down across the foot of it. 

Finally, once Anna had finished assuring him that she would be the only living furniture in the chambers, Lafayette pointed his flaming wick towards the duster, “this is Adrienne d e Noailles, de Lafayette, my lovely wife. She keeps the castle in the wondrous condition you see it in.”

The first question Benjamin had, regarding the legality of marriage between a candelabra and a feather duster, was not one he felt himself right in asking. So he instead, moved quickly to his second question--one which was reached by bowing as low as one could with a crutch and asking: “How do you do, madame?”

“Wonderful.” Her accent was thick, just as Lafayette’s was, as she gently floated down to his side. Where he was forced to clunk around awkwardly, Adrienne puffed her feathers and elegantly drifted about. She was a very lovely thing. 

She asked, “are you healing well? I saw you when you were first brought home, a terrible mess.”

“As well as I can, I believe.”

“We do hope your recovery is quick, monsieur.” 

“Thank you, madame.” 

Adrienne flicked her feathers over a few more nooks and crannies before bowing low once more and dancing the edge of one downy limb across Lafayette’s base. “I shall leave you two, as I believe there is much to be discussed, yes?”

“There is, madame,” Lafayette confirmed, his silver arm wrapping around her wooden form for just a moment before releasing her. It appeared to be some sort of a gesture of affection, like a sweet embrace of lovers, except it occurred between a candelabra and a feather duster.

She departed soon after, a small array of other dusters, with their feathers a motley arrangement of colors. Once they had gone, with a collection of rags and brooms and coat racks following neatly, the door shut swiftly and firmly behind them. Anna folded her doors shut, allowing the illusion of privacy.

Lafayette, tapping his extinguished wicks together, clanged his way to the piece of the mantle most near to Benjamin’s face. “As you will be taking residence here for a short time, you should be informed of the very few rules we have. Nothing harsh, we do not think, only three things you should be aware of. Firstly, you are free to roam through the manor at your own leisure, of course, once you are healed enough to capacity. I do believe that Lord Washington would wish to give you the tour himself, but please do not require yourself to wait for him. He is a very busy man, managing trades and such.” 

There is another click of his candles and Benjamin would almost have thought him nervous. But alas, he did not interrupt his host and Lafayette did not cease for him. “He only requests that you do not wander into his his private quarters and he does not wish to be disturbed as I am sure you understand. Third, once dusk comes the West wing is not to be explored. There is an awful damp this time of year. And lastly, he hopes that you will not go into outside once the sun has set.”

Now that was...odd. Or so, Benjamin thought. He took a great interest in the corner of a rug that was spread before the hearth, contemplating. “Outside as in, past the manor grounds? Into the woods?” 

If it was possible for a candelabra to look discomforted, Lafayette certainly did. “Outside as in outside the walls of the manor, sir. You see, the wolves that had set upon you do not take kindly the boundaries of the woods. All of Lord Washington’s concerns are for your safety, of course. You may direct questions you have towards myself, or wait until you break your fast tomorrow morning with the master of the house. However, he did wish for me to inform you that he shall resume his previous habit of taking his suppers in his study. It is not a mark against your character, I assure you, sir, but only a note as to how busy our master is that he does not find time to do so much as enjoy the company.” 

While it did strike him as strange that wolves would dare impede so far into the grounds as to be a risk no matter where he was, he count not quite shake the belief that they were not like ordinary wolves. No, he remembered those eyes, he remembered the monster. As for Lord Washington taking supper in his study, Benjamin merely supposed it was not something that would be unusual for men of his stature. Whatever that stature may be. Granted Benjamin had no such idea what it is that Lord Washington does, but it would seem so rude to inquire so he does not. Instead, he moves his weight on his crutches and says: “Would you mind if I sat?”

“Oh! Oh, dear, of course. Sit, sit your leg must pain you dreadfully.”

It did, but Ben saw no point in confirming that. Instead he gratefully lowered himself to the bed. “Thank you, and Lord Washington, for being such accommodating hosts,” he said, after a long, lingering moment. “I cannot begin to say how thankful I am for all of you. Not only have you saved my life, but you’ve also taken such care for me.”

“Hush now, sir,” Lafayette replied, clinking from the mantel to the floor. “I shall leave you, as I am sure you wish to rest to regain your strength.” 

He quickly departed afterward, leaving Benjamin alone in a room that is far too quiet and far too still. He cleared his throat once, aware is not alone. 

“Excuse me, Miss...Anna, is it?” He asked, feeling entirely foolish. 

The doors swing open smoothly, and she replied, “Yes, Mr. Tallmadge?” 

“Please, Benjamin will do just fine. I am curious how much you can see when you've shut yourself as such. I already feel badly enough that you've been forced to be stuck here with me.” 

The wardrobe chuckled to herself, and Benjamin found her instantly more soothing than any of the others he'd encountered. Her laughter wasn't cruel, or directed at his fear and folly. It was genuine. “I offered my services, it is lonely being in the other rooms with nothing but the occasional feather duster to brush me off and make light conversation.”

“I see.” He supposed it sounded quite sad, in fact, but suspected that pointing that out to her would not be necessary. “So do you, er,” he stammered over his words, gesturing vaguely towards her, “see? I mean surely you do, however it would not, well, proper, of me to, well.” He paused to clear his throat once, then twice. He could feel his ears burning, but hoped the low light of the candles kept it well hidden. It did not. The idea of not only changing before this woman, this wardrobe, this woman in the shape of a wardrobe (or wardrobe with the presence of a woman, Benjamin remained quite unsure of which was more correct)--whatever she would prefer to be referred to, the idea of being so inappropriately dressed before her was mortifying. She would see him in his sleep shirt! The silence reigned between them, sitting heavily and considerably. Tipsy, the oddly friendly footstool, teetered himself to Benjamin’s side in the interim and Benjamin found himself entirely unsure what to do, between the steadily growing awkwardness between himself and Anna and the general confliction regarding any of Lord Washington’s staff. 

Ultimately, all situations were resolved, as Tipsy did not shy away from, but push up into, Benjamin’s hand when he gently patted the cushion atop his stool and Anna finally responded. “I can assure you, Benjamin,” she said, the knobs of her drawers twisting gently, “when I’ve shut my doors I can see nothing. As well, there is little propriety to be had between wardrobes.” 

A fair and just point made by the woman across the room. And yet, it did not quite alleviate the knotting of anxiety in his stomach. Benjamin frowned, still, and pushed himself farther up the bed. His ankle throbbed angrily, the once-distant pain now an agony. He stripped himself of his stockings for that particular leg, wincing at the sight of his injury. It looked, somehow, markedly the same and worse from only a few short hours ago. 

“You should change your bandages,” Anna said from her wall. “I believe Lord Washington recommended to do so before you return to bed, to ward off infection.” 

Benjamin hummed in response. The kindness it belied seemed rather counter to the brusque and abrupt man he’d met before, but Benjamin tried to pay it little consideration. Some people just simply did not speak well too others. God knows he is certainly one of them. He spread a thin layer of the emollient cream over the tender flesh of his ankle first, before worrying a button between his fingers. His cuts and scrapes primarily featured on his abdomen, which meant baring himself before this stranger once more. Luckily, he need not worry long, as Anna, clearly most perceptive for a wardrobe, tucked her doors neatly shut and relaxed the elegant lines of her molding. 

It was, despite her presence, quiet and notably, suddenly, lonely. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me at the [tumblr](http://tooeasilyconsidered.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Some Fan Art!
> 
> \-- [Ben Seeing the Monster For The First Time](http://grumblebee-trilogy.tumblr.com/post/159062597687/a-quick-sketch-from-a-scene-from) by Grumblebee-Trilogy

**Author's Note:**

> I love any form of contact you, the reader, elect to give me, the smol author. Please please please, find me on [Tumblr](tooeasilyconsidered.tumblr.com) and send me asks, tag me in fun things, or just watch me flail horribly at my keyboard.


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